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Poetry That Makes My Heart Sing.
I’m loving reading everything by these poets — and I hope you will too.
I’ve always been rather particular about poetry, it has to be pretty special for me to make a blanket declaration of liking a certain poet’s work.
Take, for example, The Romantics. Classic English poets, given to loitering around the Lakes (who could blame them), drug inspired ‘fever dream’ style poetry in some instances, much lauded and acclaimed. In my time as tutor for an adult education centre, I ran evening classes leading to examination and qualifications (UK GCSE and A-level) in English Literature and had the pleasure of including some marvellous poetry. Keats, one of The Romantics, I thoroughly enjoy and thus his Odes were a gift. I also like Byron (His Rampant Lordship), Coleridge wrote some marvels while under the influence and Mrs Shelley (true creator of our long favoured Monster) was a wonder. Wordsworth on the other hand. Ugh. As with paintings (and any other form of art really), I can appreciate a technically well executed piece, I can critique and praise with the best of them, but personal taste is …well, personal, isn’t it. Subjective. So, as far as my personal opinion of Mr. Wordsworth? He can go off for a ramble and while he’s out there waxing lyrical, he can pick a few of his much vaunted daffodils and stick them where the…
